bladders
by aurawyn69
Summary: swearing, implied sexual history. matt needs to pee and mello's doing his hair. there is also only one bathroom.


his movements awkward, matt shifts, knawing his lip absently as he concentrates on the baffling array of impossible combos that continue to present themselves with each perfectly fluid attack he executes. he bites back a yawn, continuing to tap the controls in such a casually precise way that the performance his character is running through is flawless and good enough to earn him the kind of high score he only ever gets when he's really in the zone.

but all of a sudden there's a slight clench in his lower abdomen and in his southern regions, signalling that he really, really needs to visit the bathroom and take a long, gratifying piss. he taps his foot to a jagged, out of time beat, as if it's a mantra that could control his bladder. unsurprisingly, when it turns out not to work, matt's jaw unhinging slightly in disbelief, he pauses the battle raging on his screen to begin, rather abruptly, cursing the considerably large bottle of pepsi he'd shared with mello that morning.

a slight sigh escaping from his throat, matt unfolds his body and pushes himself to his feet, shaking his shaggy mop of hair along the way, none too different from the way a lion would after a lazy doze. loping to the bathroom while raising his arm to scratch at his neck, he attempts to push open the door with his hard, lean build, before realising the door is stubbornly refusing to open.

this time however, the noise that lunges roughly from his mouth is not slight, but a loud groan, when the conclusion his brain presents to him is one that is definitely not welcome right now.

on the other side of the unyielding door, mello is staring into the mirror, the subtle arches of his eyebrows scrunched daintily in concentration as he runs a finetoothed comb through still glistening locks of platinum blonde. as he draws the comb down other already impossibly straight strands, a strained voice slides in under the door and ricochets off the mirror.

"mels. baby."

a warmth uncurls itself in mello's stomach at the nickname, and an honest to god sincere smile pushes tenderly at the corners of his lips.

"the god of my bedroom is finally more than half awake, huh?"

"yeah, yeah. mello, please can i get in there?" matt's voice is still edgy, more so, even.

"aww, once a day isn't enough?" mello's voice, on the other hand, is so smooth it's playful.

"i promise, i'll fuck you senseless, but uh. please, can i use the bathroom?"

there's two beats of silence and then mello's notorious evil side is nudging at his conscience, it's silky voice dripping with the sadism that matt takes so eagerly in bed.

"dude. no. sacred mello time."

"i know but i could swear this is what women feel like when they're in labour."'

".. so you pissed yourself?"

and then there is the sexiest growl and a grating "fucker" emanating from the rise of matt's chest, and mello wants to hear it against his breast bone, his hips, and everywhere else.

"I JUST WANT THE TOILET. UNLOCK THE FUCKING DOOR."

"LANGUAGE, YOU FUCKING RANGA."

and then there's a sound that's reminiscent of bricks being thrown at a wall, which is really matt's knuckles tap-dancing on the door, muscles flexing and stretching all through his forearms. he's every synonym of impatient, and he swears to every living deity existing in the known universe that he will break the bloody door down if he has to, fuck the expenses, because it's starting to HURT.

rifling through a series of tactics he'd actually painstakingly developed specifically in regard to mello, because this was a prerequisite if you were going to live with him, he settles on the one he thinks is the most likely to make mello see reason, although truth be told, the chance of this actually working is less than 14%.

"mello, i'm actually going to die. ever heard of a kidney infection?"

"matt. this is just as important, if not more so. so stfu."

well then. mission failed, or objective not completed, or goal not reached; however you said it, it wasn't as if he'd really expected otherwise. and despite never having lifted weights, or done any kind of exercise that wasn't limited to being inside a virtual world of some sort, matt did have some hidden athletic prowess.

"one last chance, mihael keehl. i mean it." this is really for politeness' sake though, because if mello was a word, or rather, three, it'd be stubborn as fuck.

at the sentence that registers in mello's head, he utters a sarcastic retort under his breath, just before the door caves inward in a flurry of dust and splinters, random shafts and panels toppling over onto the not very clean floor, more so now with the shattered remains of their flimsy door.

ignoring the paraphernalia of mess, matt resolutely forges his way through, disregarding everything pointedly until his back is to mello and the mirror. hurriedly ridding himself of his belt and divesting himself of his favourite dark washed jeans and his pacman boxers, he savours the relief and almost orgasmic pleasure that comes as he gives in to the burning in his belly.

in the following seconds of silence, mello's voice reverberates off the walls, sardonic and sarcastic all in one.

"did you check to see if the door was unlocked, genius?"

and for the second time that morning, matt's jaw drops in utter incredulity, staring at mello as he struggles to come to terms with the newly imparted information. mello's exasperation is palpable across the diminutive room, and as he steps deftly from the area, he throws his comb at matt, making sure his aim is precise and his impact bruise inducing, muttering to himself about STUPID REDHEADS and STRIPES and NO FREAKING CHOCOLATE FOR THE NEXT WEEK.


End file.
